


the heartbeat of rain

by skyclectic



Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: Dream Sharing, Dying In Dreams, F/F, Limbo, Major Character Injury, Not Really Character Death, dream heists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:47:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26962390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyclectic/pseuds/skyclectic
Summary: “You’re in a lot of trouble if you die when you’re that many levels down,” Sana points out. She’s not wrong. They both know the threat of slipping into limbo grows more and more the deeper they’re in, hovering over their heads like the blade of a guillotine.“Then we don’t die.”-----Or the one where Nayeon and Sana make a living out of dream sharing aka an Inception AU.
Relationships: Im Nayeon/Minatozaki Sana
Comments: 5
Kudos: 99
Collections: You Are My Dream





	the heartbeat of rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [likeuwuahh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeuwuahh/gifts).



> This fic is heavily based on the movie, Inception. If you haven't watched it yet, I highly recommend that you do, even though it's not necessarily needed to enjoy this fic (I hope). 
> 
> \-----
> 
> This was written for the Dream prompt for TFG_VOL2's fic fest and was also commissioned by @likeuwuahh. Thank you very much for trusting me to write this fic and for everything you do <3

They’re three levels deep when Nayeon gets shot. Two bullets tear through her skin; one sinks into her stomach and another is lodged somewhere in her chest. Nayeon knows that’s the one that will probably kill her sooner rather than later — she’s already having trouble drawing in enough air. She ends up wheezing, tasting blood at the back of her throat.

It’s just a dream and everything isn’t real but _god_ , it hurts. Dying always hurts.

Sana bursts into the room, gun drawn and a wildfire in her eyes. She takes one look at Nayeon — crumpled in a heap and bleeding out on the carpet — and curses.

Nayeon has never heard Sana curse before.

Sana has always been soft smiles, dappled with sunshine. And laughter with warmth enough to rival sweet summer days. Sana has always been light and a thousand different shades of orange. 

But her eyes are dark and stormy now as she crouches beside Nayeon and presses a trembling hand on top of the damp patch on Nayeon’s shirt. “You’re not supposed to die.”

Nayeon takes in another wet-sounding breath. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t want to make promises she knows she can’t keep. 

The building groans around them, its very foundations shaking. The floor starts tilting, and drops of rain are falling on them. _No, not rain_ , Nayeon thinks sluggishly, struggling against the darkness threatening to pull her under.

The ceiling is cracking and leaking water. So much water.

A warning that the equilibrium is shifting, that the dream is collapsing around them.

Her heartbeats are starting to slow. Not long now. 

With the last of her strength, Nayeon reaches up. She wants to wipe away the water streaking in rivers down Sana’s cheek. The ceiling is pouring now, an entire thunderstorm unleashing its fury on them.

She doesn’t quite make it; Nayeon’s hand catches on Sana’s collar instead, smudging crimson fingerprints on Sana’s shirt and the pale skin at the base of her throat.

“Stick to the plan,” she murmurs around the blood in her mouth. 

  
  


/

  
  


**_I will find you. I promise._ **

_Nayeon wakes up with the words still lingering in her mind, like she does almost every other morning these days. She doesn’t recognise the voice no matter how hard she tries to sift through her mind to place a face or a name to it. Maybe she’s just too old, her memory having faded away long ago, leaving behind a faceless echo of a six-word promise._

_It’s another grey morning; rain falls on the rooftop shingles, creating a melody that somehow soothes the phantom ache beneath her ribs. Slowly, Nayeon gets out of bed, feeling her bones creak with every movement. Her body is no longer what it used to be, weathered with age and carrying years of aches and pains._

_She hobbles to the kitchen, already thinking of what to make for breakfast when something brushes against her leg. Startled, Nayeon glances down. There’s a cat staring back at her. A pretty, grey thing with little folded ears and round amber eyes._

_Nayeon doesn’t have a cat. And she lives alone in this cottage at the edge of a village by the sea. She’s lived here alone for sixty-three years now._

_Nayeon is puzzled, but before she can bend down to pick the cat up, it scurries away, disappearing out the open front door. Which is another perplexing thing, because Nayeon is sure she locked the door yesterday before she went to bed._

_Overhead, the raindrops fall in a violent flurry on the roof._

  
  


/

  
  


Fifteen minutes after the job ends, everything goes sideways. Nayeon finds herself sprawled on the dirt-stained floor of the warehouse, white-hot pain flaring up her right shoulder. She presses her hand to her shoulder, and it comes away sticky with blood. 

Beside her, Younghyun, their talented architect with the dimpled smile, is a broken ragdoll on the floor after one of Akane’s bullets had caught him square in the forehead. The pool of blood underneath him spreads steadily, gleaming a sickly red under the harsh fluorescent lights. Nayeon knows that somewhere on the other side of the warehouse, Caroline, their chemist, and Satoshi-san, their mark, are dead too. 

Nayeon doesn’t understand how she could have missed this. When the call came in from Akane two weeks ago offering Nayeon a job to run point for her team, Nayeon had done the usual background checks, delving into each of the team members’ files with an attention to detail that borders on paranoia. 

After what happened to Jeongyeon, she had learnt her lesson the hard way and no longer takes any chances.

But she must have missed something. Because Akane looms into view, looking down at Nayeon with a poisonous smile. The barrel of her gun doesn’t waver as she aims it straight between Nayeon’s eyes. 

Nayeon slips her hand into her coat pocket and feels the weight of her totem. She knows for sure now: there’s no waking up from this. Akane lets out a bark of laughter when she sees the realisation dawn on Nayeon’s face. 

“It’s nothing personal, you know that don’t you, Nayeon-san?” She nudges at Nayeon’s injured shoulder with the toe of her boot, and seems to take great pleasure at the way Nayeon bites back a scream.

“Go to hell,” Nayeon grits out, glaring up at the Japanese woman. 

Akane’s smirk turns razor-sharp. Deadly. She cocks her gun. “You first.”

A single gunshot echoes around them. Nayeon blinks. Somehow, she’s still drawing breath after the gunshot. Somehow, she’s still very much _alive_. Akane, on the other hand, sways on her feet before crumpling to the floor. 

Nayeon blinks again, vision swimming in and out of focus as she fights through the blinding pain. She must be hallucinating because Minatozaki Sana, with her fiery orange hair, is standing over her. It’s like staring directly at the sun. 

But Sana shouldn’t be here. The forger had left right after they’d all kicked out of their mark’s dream, staying just long enough to tell them about another job she had on the other side of the Pacific. Nayeon had watched her leave, had watched as Sana’s sunset hair disappeared into the horizon. 

Then, ten minutes later, Akane opened fire, killing first Caroline, then Satoshi-san, then Younghyun, and finally shooting Nayeon clean through the shoulder.

By all accounts, Sana shouldn’t be here.

“Isn’t your flight in 2 hours?” Nayeon can’t help the slightly accusatory tone in her voice. God, her shoulder really hurts now and she’s starting to feel dizzy from the blood loss.

Sana’s lips quirk slightly, something like amusement dancing in her eyes. “There are other flights.” 

Sana tucks her gun back into its holster before surveying the room, taking in the mess and the pile of dead bodies to clean up. Then she crouches beside Nayeon and presses a steady palm against Nayeon’s wound, helping to stem the flow of blood.

“You owe me for helping to clean up this mess,” she says lightly, eyes twinkling as she leans over Nayeon. Her hair forms a flaming halo that consumes Nayeon’s entire vision. “And I’m charging my new flight to your credit card.”

“Yeah okay, whatever you want,” Nayeon mumbles. She’s fighting a losing battle to stay conscious now.

Just before she surrenders to the darkness, she hears the sweet tinkle of Sana’s laughter, and then feels warm arms gently cradling her into an embrace.

  
  


/

  
  


Nayeon comes to slowly, pulled awake by the ribbons of sunlight falling directly on her face from the open window. It takes her a while to get her bearings, to register that she’s lying in a foreign bed.

The first thing she does is to reach for her totem on the bedside table. Her fist closes around the miniature figurine, and she tests its weight in the cradle of her palm. _Not a dream._

As always, the memory swims to the front of her mind at the realisation that this moment belongs to the real world, stubbornly breaking free from the locked box in the corner of Nayeon’s mind. That dark, murky place Nayeon no longer journeys to. 

  
  
Nayeon remembers that she had returned home half-drenched from a sudden downpour, the skies cracking open just as she was taking a shortcut through the empty field near their apartment building. As if to add more salt to the wound, the only elevator in the building was barricaded off for repairs, forcing Nayeon to climb up seven flights of stairs. 

She was breathless and scowling in annoyance by the time she reached their front door, cursing her luck. Nayeon fumbled with the passcode, cursing again when the keypad did not yield. It took three more tries before the door finally swung open. 

_This is all stupid Jeongyeon’s fault_ , Nayeon thought savagely as she toed off her muddy shoes. Her best friend still insisted on changing their passcode every other week, stubbornly refusing to back down whenever Nayeon pointed out that any assassins sent to kill them in their sleep would just break down their door or climb in through the windows. _It’s better to be safe than sorry_ , Jeongyeon had said, a repeated mantra delivered in that tone she used when she wanted to win whatever argument they were lost in.

Nayeon’s annoyance had grown impossibly larger when she registered the sounds coming from the living room. _Of course_ , Jeongyeon was watching one of those horror movies she loved so much. Out of pure pettiness, Nayeon decided to leave her muddy shoes on their welcome mat, taking great pleasure in the thought that it would drive Jeongyeon crazy in the morning.

She fished out the tiny lego figurine from her pocket as she approached the sofa. When she was close enough, she threw the damn thing in Jeongyeon’s general direction. “Here, take your stupid fairy.”

Jeongyeon shot her a highly affronted look, tearing her gaze away from the horde of murderous zombies on the television. “Don’t insult her! It’s not my fault you’re as blind as a bat and stepped on Tinkerbell with your overly large feet.” 

Nayeon rolled her eyes, biting back a smile when Jeongyeon very carefully tucked Tinkerbell into her pocket. Wordlessly, she settled into the space Jeongyeon had shifted to make for her, recognising the unspoken invitation. It took a few seconds of adjusting — Nayeon grumbling over accidentally sitting down on one of Bam’s feather toys, and a painful elbow to her ribs — before they found a comfortable position.

“We’re watching a romantic comedy after this,” Nayeon said, words muffled against the warmth of Jeongyeon’s sweater. She _hated_ zombies. “Or Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind.”

Somewhere above her, Jeongyeon scoffed. “You’ve seen that movie a hundred times.”

“So?” Nayeon countered, poking Jeongyeon’s side. “You’re almost 24 and still play with _legos_.” 

“You’re the worst,” Jeongyeon grumbled, but Nayeon could tell that she didn’t mean it. Jeongyeon would never mean it.

“Thank you,” Jeongyeon said later, when the credits of Nayeon’s favourite movie flashed on the screen. “For getting me a new Tinkerbell.” 

In the dim flickering glow from their television, Jeongyeon’s expression was difficult to make out. But Nayeon has never had trouble connecting constellations and making meaning out of everything Jeongyeon chose to leave unsaid.

 _Thank you for everything_ , Jeongyeon was silently telling her. _Thank you for putting up with my lego obsession and tolerating all my idiosyncrasies and crazy neurotic habits_. 

“It’s not a big deal,” she shrugged. “It was my fault anyway.”

From the way Jeongyeon’s lips quirked into a crooked smile, she knew that Jeongyeon understood her perfectly. 

If she had known then how everything would fall apart and splinter at her feet just three months later, she would have tried harder. She would have made more of an effort to say everything plainly, out loud in the open, instead of leaving so many words hidden in the shadows. 

  
  


Nayeon takes in a deep breath, indulging in the memory for a second longer before she shelves it away, folding it back into the box it belongs to. The next thing Nayeon notices is how her wound has been cleaned and dressed. Nayeon can feel stitches pulling against the tender skin whenever she shifts on the bed. 

Carefully, Nayeon tucks Tinkerbell into the pocket of her sweatpants, keeping her totem safe with her. Now that she knows that she’s not in a dream, Nayeon focuses on her surroundings instead, taking point and cataloguing things in her head. It’s a job hazard, but also the only way she knows how to live now. She doesn’t remember any other way.

She’s in a bright, airy room. There are stuffed toys and fluffy pillows on the window seat. In the corner opposite the bed are a wooden study table and a bookcase with an entire shelf dedicated to Harry Potter: the complete collection in Japanese takes pride in the centre and is bracketed with a wand, a yellow and black scarf, and other random merchandise. 

And on the bedside table, there’s a photo of a little girl in pigtails on one of those kiddie rides at the amusement park, immortalised forever by the camera lens. Nayeon stares at the photo for a long time, taking in the sunshine in the girl's toothless grin.

Slowly, the tension in her melts away. She relaxes against the fluffy pillows and falls into a dreamless sleep. 

  
  


/

  
  


The sky is a warmer shade of blue when Nayeon wakes up again. This time, she untangles herself from the covers and swings her feet onto the floor, gritting her teeth against the pain that flares up in her shoulder when she moves too quickly. Painkillers. Nayeon needs to figure out where the nearest pharmacy is so she can get some. 

Slowly, she makes her way to the window. There’s nothing familiar about the surrounding buildings — the only thing Nayeon knows for sure is that she’s in some kind of residential area. A lone cherry blossom tree at the far end of the garden catches her eye. Half of it is flourishing, heavy with soft pink petals. The other half is clearly dead, shriveled and black as night. If she squints, Nayeon can make out the exact path the bolt of lightning took as it burned its way down the tree’s trunk.

She’s in the middle of marvelling at the tree when the door to the room creaks open. Nayeon whirls around, senses on high alert. She relaxes, but only slightly, when she registers the old woman with the tray of food standing at the threshold.

“Nayeon-chan.” 

Something about the old woman’s crinkled smile reminds Nayeon of the little girl with sunshine in her toothless grin. The one immortalised in the photo on the bedside table. The one whose childhood room she must be in now. 

Nayeon racks her brain, cycling through her limited Japanese vocabulary until the old woman’s face lights up when she lands on _Obaasan_.

  
  
  


Obaasan helps Nayeon to settle against the headboard before putting the breakfast tray down over Nayeon’s lap. She lingers, watching with a critical eye as Nayeon spoons some porridge into her mouth. Warmth and the best kind of comfort spreads through her as Nayeon swallows the mouthful of porridge. 

Nayeon has forgotten the Japanese words for it, so she compromises by flashing a thumbs up at Obaasan. And then murmurs her thanks with an incline of her head. 

Obaasan’s hand lands on her good shoulder, squeezing gently. She murmurs something in Japanese too quickly for Nayeon to catch. But it doesn’t matter. Nayeon can sense the warmth and overwhelming care anyway. 

“Take this,” Obaasan tells her in stilted, awkward Korean. Nayeon is startled, but accepts the folded piece of paper Obaasan is holding out to her. She watches as Obaasan shuffles out of the room, wondering if the old woman learnt Korean from her granddaughter. 

When the door closes softly behind her, Nayeon puts her spoon down and unfolds the note. 

_Stay as long as you need until you feel better. My Obaasan will take care of you._

The note is unsigned, but it doesn’t matter. Nayeon already knows who it’s from. 

  
  


/

  
  


“What happened?” Jihyo asks the moment the credits start rolling on the television screen. Nayeon can feel Jihyo’s searing gaze burning holes into the side of her head.

“You don’t have x-ray vision, you know,” she points out lightly, going for a note of levity to temper the deadly serious look in Jihyo’s eyes. “Staring at me that hard isn’t going to magically make you see into my brain.”

She waits for Jihyo to scoff, or for her left eye to twitch in that way it often does whenever Nayeon does anything that Jihyo disagrees with on principle. But the stony silence she’s met with is infinitely worse. Apparently, there’s no room for levity today.

Nayeon slumps against the sofa cushions. “The extractor on that Osaka job fucked us all up. After Sana — after our forger left, Akane killed everyone else and shot me in the shoulder.”

She chances a look at Jihyo, whose face remains impossibly blank. The only hint of the turbulent emotions swirling under the surface are the storm clouds gathering in Jihyo’s eyes. 

“It’s fine,” Nayeon adds, making a show of rotating her shoulder and swinging her arm back and forth. “Sana — the forger, I mean, came back and killed that bitch before she blew my brains out. Then, Sana brought me to her Obaasan’s to recover.” 

“I know who Sana is,” Jihyo reminds Nayeon before tilting her head, eyes sweeping over Nayeon’s face with careful deliberation. “You guys must have gotten really close if she came back to save you. And then brought you to her grandmother’s house.” 

Nayeon shrugs nonchalantly. It’s much easier than trying to piece together what exactly she feels for Sana. They meet once in a while on a job; it’s hard not to when there are only so many people crazy enough to risk building a career out of dream sharing like they have. 

More often than not, they end up tangled together beneath the sheets. Sana makes for nice company in the long hours and weeks preparing for a dream heist. And Sana has saved her life, both in dreams and out of them, more times than Nayeon can count. Both of those things are facts that Nayeon can admit to. Beyond that, everything swims beneath murky waters. Nayeon is convinced that nothing good can come out of dragging it all up to the surface. 

“We spent three months preparing for the job. It’s plenty of time to get closer to someone, you know?”

Jihyo hums indulgently. “I know.” She hesitates for just a second but then continues, always one to speak her mind and leave everything out in the open. “I was just… I was worried, Nayeon. You didn’t come home for two weeks after you texted me to say you were done with the job and were gonna catch the earliest flight back. I thought — Jeongyeonnie didn't come home when —“

Jihyo’s voice cuts off abruptly as sorrow and anguish pinches her expression tight. Jeongyeon’s name lingers between them, taking up all of the room and drawing the air away from Nayeon’s lungs. It’s a pain much much worse than getting shot with a hundred bullets. And Nayeon would rather take the bullets if it meant she could have her best friend back, sitting on the other end of the couch and cackling as she sends popcorn missiles flying into Jihyo and Nayeon’s hair.

Nayeon takes a deep breath that rattles hollow in her chest, and reaches for Jihyo’s hand. “I came back, Jihyo-yah. I’m home now.”

They both know it’s all Nayeon can offer. The nature of their jobs, the danger of messing with dreams and everything make-believe, is too much of a risk. No promise can ever hold up. And so, Nayeon just squeezes Jihyo’s hand and holds on tightly as they settle in to watch another movie.

  
  


/

  
  


It’s almost two in the morning by the time Nayeon steps out of the shower. She stands in front of the mirror, taking in her own reflection, blurred under a layer of condensation from the hot water.

Her wound has completely healed now, the stitches long gone, leaving behind only a shallow depression — a dark dimple on Nayeon’s otherwise unblemished shoulder.

On impulse, she reaches for her phone on the counter and snaps a quick photo of her shoulder. She sends the message before she can think too much about it. 

_all healed now. thanks. i owe you one._

It’s late, so Nayeon is not completely ready for it when her phone beeps barely a minute later.

_good~ i’m glad you’re better now. sure, you can start paying your dues by returning that necklace you stole from me >:(_

Nayeon can’t help the tiny smile that blooms on her face. She had completely forgotten the Golden Snitch necklace she had taken from the Harry Potter shelf in Sana’s old childhood room. The same one she’s wearing now. 

She’s halfway through typing a reply when her phone beeps again. 

_the necklace looks good on you~ but i want it back, baby._

Something about the nickname, and the way Sana slips it in like a habit, like an afterthought, makes heat curl at the bottom of Nayeon’s stomach. 

_make me_ , she texts back, already thinking of the next time their paths will cross. _whenever we meet again, if you’re the appropriate amount of persuasive, you can have it back._

 _oh, the things i’m going to do to persuade you,_ comes the reply. _i promise i’ll make it worth your while._

Nayeon falls asleep that night thinking of Sana’s promise, the fluttering wings of the Golden Snitch resting just above the restless pounding of her own heart.

  
  


/

  
  


Two months pass and spring unravels itself into warm summer days, before Sana’s name lights up Nayeon’s phone screen again. 

“About damn time you called me, Minatozaki,” Nayeon says the moment she picks up. She wonders if Sana can hear the smile in her voice, wonders if Sana can read her effortlessly through all the static.

“Why? Did you miss me?” Sana’s tone is light, teasing, and god, Nayeon has missed this, has missed Sana more than she would ever care to admit out loud. 

Nayeon walks over to her desk and flips open her laptop. With a few quick clicks, she’s logged into her account with her preferred airline. 

“Is that what you want?” Nayeon asks, taking note of the miles she has left to redeem, before clicking back to the main page and hovering over the list of destinations. “For me to miss you?”

Sana just hums, a sweet little note that steals its way beneath Nayeon’s ribs. Sana lets the moment linger for a few heartbeats before she slips easily into professionalism, tone brisk and meaning nothing but business. “Our point man pulled out at the last minute. Will you come?”

“Depends. How complicated of a job are we talking about?” 

“A simple one. Extracting information on an upcoming company merger from a CEO. For his rival.”

Nayeon makes a non-committal sound at the back of her throat. Those kinds of jobs are always easy. With millions on the line and a gigantic ego to boot, CEOs make for very easy targets when it comes to dream heists.

“Where?”

“Singapore. I’m in that hotel we were at when we were last here,” Sana says easily, like it's the truth instead of a carefully disguised lie to throw off anybody who might be tapping into their conversation. They’ve never been to Singapore together. “The one with the lightning-struck cherry blossom tree in the garden.”

“I remember.” Nayeon scrolls through the list of destinations on her screen until she lands on Osaka. She hates early morning flights, but she books the one with the 6am departure time anyway. “I’ll catch the first flight out.”

  
  


/

  
  


Sana makes good on her promise. She has Nayeon’s hands pinned down above her head, holding them loosely with one hand and tightening her grip every time Nayeon tries to break free. 

“Let me,” Sana murmurs, right into Nayeon’s ear. She chuckles when Nayeon shivers, and then dips down to nose at the underside of Nayeon’s jaw. Nayeon barely has time to prepare herself before Sana’s mouth latches onto that sensitive spot right underneath her ear in a way that’s meant to dismantle Nayeon completely. 

Nayeon is breathless, her thoughts fraying. She wants so badly to sink her fingers into Sana’s hair, to leave marks on Sana’s skin, but Sana is unrelenting. 

“Let me,” she murmurs again, words branding Nayeon’s skin as her lips trail further downwards, before claiming the span of skin just above Nayeon’s breastbone. Right where the damned necklace rests, the fluttering wings of the Golden Snitch balanced precariously over the frantic hammering of Nayeon’s own heart.  
  


When Nayeon gets out of the bathroom, she finds Sana standing by the window. It’s raining heavily outside, an entire thunderstorm raging down on them while they were lost in their own world and in each other. 

Nayeon steps into place behind Sana, slipping an arm around Sana’s waist and biting back a smile at the way Sana melts against her. They watch the rivulets of water chasing their way down the window pane, the rain falling on the cherry blossom tree in Obaasan’s garden. 

“You know,” Sana breaks the silence, turning around so that she’s facing Nayeon instead. “I’ve always wondered what it’s like to fly.” 

Nayeon’s confusion must be showing on her face because Sana giggles and then runs a finger lightly over the chain of the necklace that Nayeon is still wearing. 

“I wonder what it’s like to fly,” Sana repeats, now toying with the Golden Snitch charm in a way that lets Nayeon know it won’t be long before they’re back in bed again. “Don’t you, Nayeonnie?” 

She doesn’t wait for Nayeon to answer, tugging on the necklace chain just enough to catch Nayeon’s lips and steal her breath away.

  
  


/

  
  


The city, in all its diamond-bright beauty, glimmers far below their feet. Nayeon takes it in: the collision of different-sized buildings in a mixture of shadow and geometry, the tiny vehicles rushing along tangled, criss-crossed streets and creating twisting threads of light. Even in a dream, the city is magnificent, breathtaking in a way that makes Nayeon feel small.

“Why are we here, Nayeon?” 

Sana’s not looking at the view, her gaze fixed on Nayeon instead. Eyes dark and liquid, just like the inky black sky that hangs over their heads.

“Why are we in a dream, or why are we on this rooftop?” 

Sana doesn’t answer, and Nayeon thinks she makes such a pretty picture with her fly-away hair fluttering in the cool breeze, the same shade as rusted leaves falling from a tree in autumn. The long pin-striped coat she’s wearing only adds to the allure, the deep navy blue a perfect contrast to her hair.

There are many ways to die in a dream, to force their subconscious to retreat quickly enough for them to snap awake to reality again. A gunshot to the head or heart is the preferred way — it’s fast and efficient.

But there are other ways, too. 

“You said you wanted to know what it’s like to fly.”

Nayeon reaches out and grabs the lapels of Sana’s coat. She pulls Sana close, tugging hard enough to tip them off-balance and send them plunging sixty floors towards the weathered street below. 

  
  


/

  
  


_The rain has slowed to a drizzle by the time Nayeon is done scrambling some eggs. Clumsily, she tips them onto a plate; simple everyday tasks are hard to manage now that she's getting on in years, what with her crooked fingers._

_Normally, she will sit at the tiny kitchen table to enjoy her food, but something calls her out to the front porch this morning. She has always loved the lingering petrichor in the air after a thunderstorm._

_Nayeon settles on the wooden rocking chair on the porch, balancing the plate of eggs on her lap. She eats them slowly, taking in the serene tranquility: the quiet that’s only broken by the gentle patter of rain and the sound of waves crashing against the nearby shore._

_She watches as a lone seagull flies overhead, cutting through the grey morning like a white scar cleaving the sky in two. She follows its graceful flight through the light drizzle, smiling to herself as it swoops down and dips its black-tipped wings just over the surface of the water._

_It must be nice to fly with so much grace, she thinks to herself. And then a wisp of memory, or maybe just a figment of her imagination, floats into Nayeon's mind on the wings of a voice that feels familiar_ — _if only she could place it._

**_I wonder what it’s like to fly. Don’t you, Nayeonnie?_ **

_She’s puzzling it over in her head, when something brushes against her leg. Startled, Nayeon glances down. There’s the cat again. Its round amber eyes are fixed on Nayeon’s face._

_Nayeon reaches out and the cat curls around her hand, licking over her crooked knuckles. Nayeon’s face crinkles into a smile and she coos at the cat._

_“Where did you come from, darling? Are you lost?”_

_A soft chuckle sounds from somewhere behind her. “Bam-ie’s always liked you better. The traitor.”_

_Nayeon hasn’t heard that voice in years, but it cuts through her cleanly, opening up an old wound she had long forgotten. With her heart in her throat and a sea of regrets overflowing the spaces between her ribs, Nayeon turns and meets the unwavering gaze of her best friend._

_Jeongyeon’s smile is a lighthouse beam through the fog of her memories. Crooked, slightly off-kilter and everything that makes Jeongyeon so, so familiar. Pain crests over the waves of regret building in Nayeon’s chest. It feels like an entire lifetime ago. How many years has it been since Jeongyeon left for that job and never came home?_

_Overhead, the rain starts picking up again, falling in a violent flurry against the rooftop shingles._

  
  


/

  
  


“Nayeon? Are you still there?” 

“Yes.” Nayeon sighs into the line, her mind racing as she tries to wrap her head around the job Jihyo just told her about. It’s not impossible, Nayeon knows that. Nothing ever is. But attempting to pull off inception comes with a risk that is almost too heavy to bear. There’s a reason why no one else in their field has really explored it before. 

Jihyo, as if able to read Nayeon’s thoughts over the phone, breaks the silence with a reassuring hum. “If anyone can do it, we can, Nayeon-ah. We just need an excellent forger and I think —”

“I know someone,” Nayeon cuts in. It’s been a couple of months since Osaka and they’ve mostly communicated via text messages and the occasional phone calls, but Nayeon knows Sana’s just finished a job somewhere in Rome. “I can ask if she’d be willing to do it.” 

Jihyo is silent for a minute, as if absorbing Nayeon’s words. Then, she lets out a long exhale. “Do you love her?”

Nayeon swallows unsteadily. “Does it matter?” 

“I just want —” Jihyo breaks off and then takes in another deep breath. Her voice strains with it, with the way her emotions bleed through the words. “I just want you to be happy, Nayeon-ah. And if Sana makes you happy, then that’s all that matters.” 

  
  


/

  
  


Nayeon hates long flights. And Rome is on the other side of the world. But she makes the trip anyway, emerging out of the plane fifteen hours later bleary-eyed and exhausted to the bone. It takes her a while to get a cab, fumbling for the words in both Italian and English. On the quiet journey through the city, Nayeon stares at her pale reflection in the car window and wonders if it would have been easier to just make a call instead of flying halfway across the world. 

An hour later however, when a sleep-drunk Sana opens her hotel room door, all of Nayeon's doubts simply melt away. Sana tilts her head, gaze raking over Nayeon openly, unabashedly. Her eyes are alight, free from the cobwebs of sleep that clouded them just moments ago. There's a hint of a smile tugging on the corners of Sana's lips.

“Hi.” Nayeon unwraps the scarf around her neck just for something to do with her hands. She knows Sana can see through her poorly concealed attempt to appear casual, like it's perfectly normal for her to show up at midnight in front of Sana's hotel room door. She tucks the scarf into her coat pocket and waits for Sana to make her move.

Sana's lips quirk and her eyes glimmer in a way that makes Nayeon feel warm all over. “Are you stalking me, Im Nayeon?” 

Sana's playful smirk is both endearing and obnoxiously annoying, so Nayeon takes a tiny step forward and presses her lips to the corner of Sana's mouth. Her heart skips a beat in time with the way Sana's breath hitches ever so slightly. A sudden yearning to hear that sound again blooms in her chest. So, she takes another tiny step, fitting herself against Sana's edges. She reaches up and runs her fingers over the crest of Sana's cheekbone and then lower still, fingers dancing over the sliver of skin exposed by Sana’s bathrobe. She bites back a smirk of her own at the shaky exhale she gets in return.

“It's not stalking if I was just in the area.” 

They both know that's a lie, but Sana doesn't call her out on it. Instead, she shifts, just enough to cup Nayeon's cheek, and guide her into a searing kiss that Nayeon feels as a spark of electricity spreading out from her lips all the way down to her toes. She tries not to read too much into it, into how the kiss is everything that feels like a _hello_ , an _I miss you_ and an _I want you_ all at the same time.

“Come in,” Sana murmurs, fingers tangling around Nayeon’s own. “You must be exhausted and hungry from the flight. I'll order room service.” 

  
  


Nayeon spends most of their late night supper trying to determine the exact shade of Sana’s eyes. Their conversation is easy and light, meandering over stories from the best jobs they’ve worked on to the worst. Sana doesn’t mention the disastrous job with Akane, and Nayeon is grateful for Sana’s consideration.

Nayeon has finally settled on a lovely shade of rust blooming across rain-washed steel — a burst of colour in the darkness. But when the light catches on Sana’s face, her eyes shine like scattered copper coins, like slivers of sunlit amber. Honey sweet and mesmerising, a bottomless ocean to drown in. 

And Nayeon finds an inexplicable ache, a growing wildness wrapped around a fervent desire to drown in Sana the way water would rush into her lungs if she sank underneath the seas. But none of that is something she knows how to distill into words, so she settles for taking another bite of her tiramisu. 

“Let’s play twenty questions,” Sana declares with a thoughtful crease of her eyebrows. It’s dangerous, the way Nayeon is loath to deny her anything. “What’s your favourite colour?”

“Purple.” Nayeon takes another bite of tiramisu, sees the way Sana’s eyes linger and gives in to the impulse to tease her. She lets out a little appreciative moan and feels heat curl in her stomach when Sana’s gaze turns a shade darker. 

“Favourite type of coffee?” 

Nayeon hesitates. It’s a harmless question, and she doesn’t blame Sana for asking it, but can’t help the sharp twinge of pain she feels anyway. 

“I have a weakness for Coffee Bean’s Iced Hazelnut Latte.”

Sana’s frown deepens. “I’ve only ever seen you take it black. Or, when you’re in the mood, you order an Iced Americano.” 

Nayeon takes a deep, steadying breath. Like it would do anything to lessen the ache in her heart. But Sana’s honey-brown eyes are open and inviting, full of warmth and the promise of tenderness and kindness that knows no bounds. So, Nayeon lets the truth slip free. 

“Americano is — was — my best friend’s favourite. She drank nothing else and used to laugh at me whenever I stole a sip and complained about the bitterness.” Nayeon offers Sana a tiny rueful smile. “It’s silly maybe, but now I drink it because — because it reminds me of her.” 

She can’t quite look at Sana after that confession, feeling the weight of it bitter on the roof of her mouth. A hand reaches out for her cheek and Sana is gentle, so very gentle as she tilts Nayeon’s chin up. 

“It’s not your fault what happened to Jeongyeon. You can’t keep blaming yourself.”

It doesn’t surprise Nayeon that Sana knows. Word travels fast, and there are not that many of them in the dream heist business. 

“It’s not your fault,” Sana repeats. Her eyes are impossibly soft, a balm that soothes over the jagged edges of Nayeon’s wounds. 

When Sana moves to pull her into a warm embrace, Nayeon thinks that she can finally start to believe it. 

“I’m afraid of bees.” Sana says matter-of-factly when they break apart again. She makes no mention of Nayeon’s red-rimmed eyes. “Terrified shitless of them.”

“That’s — that’s good to know.” 

“Your turn to ask me a question,” Sana says. Her smile is kind and her eyes are still impossibly soft as she offers Nayeon an out: a small act of mercy and an offer to escape the crushing guilt Nayeon has carried around with her for far too long. 

  
  


It's nearly two in the morning by the time they’re settling under the covers. Nayeon had tried, in a transparently half-hearted attempt, to tell Sana that she’d just get her own room. Sana, predictably, had only rolled her eyes and then wrenched the spare bathrobe out of the closet before throwing it at Nayeon with a cursory _you can’t sleep in jeans._

“Why are you really here, Nayeon?” 

Nayeon turns her head to meet Sana’s gaze, bright and iridescent, even in the semi-darkness.

“We need a forger. And you’re one of the best.” 

She sighs when Sana’s gaze doesn’t waver. This is the hard part. The part where she’s not even sure Sana will agree to fly back to Seoul with her for the job. “Inception. Three levels of dreams. That’s the job.” 

Sana’s doubt is palpable enough to be a physical force. “No one has ever pulled it off successfully before. Not that I know of.”

“Well, we can be the first then.” 

“You’re in a lot of trouble if you die when you’re that many levels down,” Sana points out. She’s not wrong. They both know the threat of slipping into limbo grows more and more the deeper they’re in, hovering over their heads like the blade of a guillotine. 

“Then we don’t die.” 

There’s a loaded pause before Sana laughs, an effervescent sound that echoes off the walls. 

Nayeon realises she’s wretchedly in love. It hits her hard and all at once in that moment, staring at the crescents of Sana’s eyes, at the way laughter makes her beautiful in an incandescent, ethereal way.

She doesn’t remember who initiates the kiss. All she remembers is Sana giggling against her lips, the taste of sunshine heavy in Sana’s laughter, and then the heat of Sana’s hands searing over her skin. 

  
  


In the morning, Nayeon wakes up late, her body aching all over. There are purple blossoms on the dip of her hip bones, bruises that Sana put there. A part of her likes the way they wear on her pale skin. She thinks about ordering breakfast, and then catching the earliest flight back to Seoul. 

But her wandering thoughts don’t get very far, because Sana steps out of the bathroom and suddenly, there are more pressing things to attend to. Like the way Sana’s eyes go darker, hungrier when she languidly makes her way to the bed, letting her towel slide off her body carelessly. Like the ease in which Sana slides her hands over Nayeon’s thighs, both demanding and gentle at the same time. 

Like the way Sana surrenders readily when Nayeon flips them over and straddles Sana’s hips, kissing her with the kind of fever that only burns hotter instead of waning. 

  
  


/

  
  


The morning of the inception heist, Nayeon startles awake far too early. The sun is barely up and there’s still a quiet stillness to the air, broken only by the soft even breaths coming from the other side of her bed. Nayeon just drinks it in, the sight of Sana fast asleep on her pillow, and finds a strange kind of comfort in it. A kind of profound peace she hasn’t felt in a long time.

Her eyes flutter close again and Nayeon surrenders to the sleep waiting to reclaim her. But her mind is a treacherous thing. Instead of slipping gently into sleep, her mind takes her back to the day Nayeon wishes she had the power to rewrite. 

Nayeon remembers how they were in the middle of a heated argument, neither of them wanting to give in. Nayeon’s annoyance at her best friend was only matched by the exasperated ire pinching Jeongyeon’s face into a scowl. 

“Why the hell are you so stubborn?”

“Why are _you_?” Nayeon shot back. “You’re a _chemist_ , Jeongyeon. You mix up sedatives and chemical compounds. You don’t ever enter a dream with the rest of us.” 

“It doesn’t mean I can’t.” Jeongyeon crossed her arms. Unyielding. “Look, if you, with your leg still healing from being broken, can get to the couch on your own without collapsing, I’ll let you win this one.”

Nayeon glared up at Jeongyeon from her seat at the dining table. Their couch wasn’t that far from the table, but Jeongyeon knew she couldn’t possibly make it there without leaning on her crutches or clutching at Jeongyeon’s arm for support.

Jeongyeon glared right back, and then, when Nayeon made no move to get up, allowed an annoyingly triumphant smirk to steal over her face.

“So it’s settled then,” Jeongyeon said briskly. “I’ll go on the job instead. And stop glaring at me. It’ll be _fine_. I’ll be back in two weeks as planned.” 

Nayeon scowled, just to be contrary. She _hated_ the idea of Jeongyeon going in her place for this stupid job she committed to before she tripped down the stairs and broke her leg. “Just get back in one piece.”

Jeongyeon’s eyes softened. “I will.”

And then, uncharacteristically, Jeongyeon leaned down and wrapped Nayeon in a tight embrace. 

“I’ll be back sooner than you think,” she said, and the fierce intensity in her voice swept every one of Nayeon’s doubts away. 

  
  


/

  
  


The ceiling is cracking and leaking water. So much water.

A warning that the equilibrium is shifting, that the dream is collapsing around them.

Her heartbeats are starting to slow. Not long now. 

With the last of her strength, Nayeon reaches up. She wants to wipe away the water streaking in rivers down Sana’s cheek. The ceiling is pouring now, an entire thunderstorm unleashing its fury on them.

She doesn’t quite make it; Nayeon’s hand catches on Sana’s collar instead, smudging crimson fingerprints on Sana’s shirt and the pale skin at the base of her throat.

“Stick to the plan,” she murmurs around the blood in her mouth. 

“ _Shut up_. Just stop talking,” Sana tells her, hands a steady pressure against Nayeon’s wounds. She’s trying to stem the blood flow, but Nayeon can tell that it’s too late to do anything. 

Nayeon’s breath hitches, growing shallower with every other laboured inhale. She latches on to the storm clouds in Sana’s beautiful eyes, and narrows down her entire world to Sana. 

“Jeongie would’ve liked you, I think,” Nayeon manages, voice faint. _If only she had the chance to meet you_ , she wants to say but can’t find the strength to. Bitter regret and sorrow wash over her; for Jeongyeon, for Sana, for everything she wishes she had said and done before the inevitable darkness takes her.

Sana’s thumb comes up to brush away the trickle of blood at the corner of Nayeon’s mouth. “I will find you. I promise.”

It’s the first time Nayeon hears Sana’s voice shake, heavy with barbed coils of fear. Sana is never afraid of anything. Except bees. Sana is terrified of bees. That much, Nayeon knows.

Sana leans down, pressing her lips against Nayeon’s forehead. “No matter how long it takes, I'll find you. So, just wait, okay? I promise —” 

Nayeon’s eyes drift close. And the darkness takes her under.

  
  


/

  
  


_“I’ve never blamed you, you know,” Jeongyeon tells her over her cup of coffee. Black, just like how Jeongyeon likes it._

_The steam rising from Jeongyeon’s mug in wispy tendrils creates a hazy kind of mist. It’s hard for Nayeon to see Jeongyeon’s features clearly. Or maybe that’s from the way her vision has turned blurry from the sting of tears and the well of emotions rising in her chest._

_“I should have never let you go for that job,” Nayeon whispers._

_“You couldn’t have known, Nayeon-ah,” Jeongyeon says, reaching out to squeeze Nayeon’s hand reassuringly. There’s a rueful smile on her face, a sad broken thing. “It’s no one’s fault, what happened to me.”_

_There’s a knock on the front door. Nayeon startles, but Jeongyeon doesn’t seem surprised at all. “It’s time,” she says._

_Nayeon watches, confused, as Jeongyeon bends to scoop up Bam into her arms. She stares down at Nayeon with an incomprehensible, wistful look that makes Nayeon’s heart crack painfully. “I’ve been around long enough inside here. It’s time you let me go, Nayeon-ah. And move on.”_

_Nayeon swallows thickly. “Jeongyeon —”_

_The knocking grows louder, taking on a frantic cadence the longer it goes on. As if the person on the other side is seized with unrestrained impatience or urgency. Nayeon is torn between wanting to see who is hammering on her front door and staying here, with her best friend._

_Jeongyeon nods at her, gently urging. “Go on. It’ll be okay.”_

_Slowly, Nayeon shuffles to the door and wrenches it open. In the torrential downpour outside the cottage, it takes her a while to make out the shape of the young woman standing on her front porch. She has hair the colour of rusted autumn leaves, of every shade of orange that reminds Nayeon of sunset. The woman is wild-eyed and soaked to the bone, the rain streaking in rivers down her cheeks. Something about her dark pin-striped suit feels out of place._

_“Nayeon.” Her voice and the way it folds around Nayeon’s name, stirs something inside Nayeon’s head, in that deep, murky place Nayeon no longer journeys to. “You need to wake up. Now.”_

_In Nayeon’s confusion, she doesn’t register the gun until it’s too late, until the bullet has lodged itself somewhere near her heart._

  
  


/

  
  


Nayeon wakes up, gasping for breath with a hand over her chest. There’s a phantom ache there from when the bullet had torn through her. 

But that wasn’t real. 

None of it was. Her hands are not bent awkwardly from old age. Her body is free from a hundred aches and pains. And Jeongyeon. Jeongyeon is no longer here with her crooked smile and a pretty, grey cat curled in her arms.

Nayeon doesn’t need to feel the weight of her Tinkerbell totem to know. Not when there’s Sana with her sunset hair, peering down at Nayeon with a look of stark relief tinged with a hint of wild abandon.

There’s something else there too, swimming in the undercurrents of relief in Sana’s eyes. Sana is looking at her like she’s something beautiful and entrancing. Like Nayeon is otherworldly, a wonder that she’s never seen before and yearns to hold on to.

There’s no reason for Sana to look at Nayeon like that, unless —

Sana’s thumb brushes over Nayeon’s cheekbone, sweeping over the hollow of her cheeks tenderly, like she's trying to memorise the feel of Nayeon's skin. She leans down, pressing her lips to Nayeon’s forehead. 

“I did promise I’d find you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> In case anyone is interested, here's a little of what went on my head with Nayeon's Tinkerbell totem aka the same one she stole from Jeongyeon's lego set and used as her totem after Jeongyeon's disappearance.
> 
> The choice of Tinkerbell for the totem felt natural to me because of the symbolism:
> 
> To me, Tinkerbell as a fairy, represents everything whimsical and incomprehensible, an otherworldly kind of magic that transcends reality. In that sense, Tinkerbell mirrors Jeongyeon's memory. To Nayeon, Jeongyeon is a sacred piece of magic - her best friend whom she loves dearly who disappears and never came home - and she holds on to Jeongyeons memory in that same sort of way even though it brings her pain. 
> 
> Which brings us to the fact that Tinkerbell in the original Peter Pan, brought chaos to Peter's life, especially when he brought Wendy to meet her. Tinkerbell had a sweet disposition, and is incredibly loyal, but she turned vindictive and downright murderous, bringing all this chaotic energy. In my mind, I tie that to how Nayeon, by taking the Tinkerbell figurine as her totem, also introduced the same kind of chaotic energy in her life. Sure, it's a sweet way to honour her beloved best friend, but it's also a double-edged sword and brings her much pain too whenever she looks at it and relives the memories. 
> 
> TL:DR The Tinkerbell totem is symbolic in its own ways :')
> 
> \----
> 
> @skyclectic on twitter and curious cat. so, come drop by to say hi or share your thoughts or ask me anything, really. <3
> 
> i also have a Ko-Fi now (ko-fi.com/skyclectic) and if this fic or any others i have written have touched you in any way and you would like to support me by getting me a Ko-Fi, i would be very very thankful too. <3


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